* 𝕥𝕣𝕒𝕘𝕚𝕔 / 𝓶 𝓪 𝓰 𝓲 𝓬

the first thing she heard was the beeping. slow, rhythmic, too clean, too precise to be anything real. her eyes fluttered open to a light so bright, it felt like it was slicing through her skull. and for a second, for a fleeting moment, she thought maybe this was it. maybe she didn't make it. but then came the pain. it was sharp and nauseating and reminded her she was very much still alive. her ribs screamed when she tried to shift even a little bit and her mouth tasted like metal and blood.

the nurse's voice was the next thing. too soft and calm for how insane everything felt. "you're lucky, ms. dupont." she said, while adjusting felicity's iv. "you've got broken ribs, a concussion, a dislocated wrist and a few deep lacerations. but the way that car crashed? you're lucky to be alive." but felicty didn't care. she could only bring herself to ask one question.

"where's maddox?"

the nurse hesitated, a tiny flicker of pity in her eyes said everything felicity needed to know before she even spoke. "i don't know, sweetheart." the nurse said simply, reaching to brush felicity's hair from her face before she left the room, leaving her alone again.

she didn't know how long it was between then and when the door opened again, but when it did? it was mickey dupont in the flesh. he moved into the room slowly, hands in his pockets, sunglasses on like he was the important person in teh world. his voice was calm and steady, far too steady. "i paid off the police." he said. "they won't press charges. they don't even know what they saw." he said, his voice flat, eyes studying her closely. "you remind me of your mother, you know that?" he said after a few beats of silence. "wild. restless. beautiful. burned out too bright too fast. that's why i left her. and i see you doing the same damn thing."

felicity stared back at him, glassy eyed, bruised, broken more than she ever had been before and for the first time ever, mickey dupont was right. "get out." was all she said quietly, voice raspy and cracked. and as always, he did. because mickey dupont did leaving better than anyone.

days later, after days of agony and withdrawal and stitches, the nurses took her out the back entrance to avoid the photographers waiting out front that had been camping out since the accident. she was moving slow, head throbbing, arm in a sling, being wheeled out in a wheelchair. she felt pathetic. they sent her home in a black car and a nurse. her head leaned against the window and she tried to close her eyes, but every time she did, she saw him.

"please, baby."

"i'm real. i'm right here."

"if you do this, you take me down too."

she unlocked her phone then, seeing absolutely nothing from him. nothing from anyone. just an influx of messages from managers and agents and tabloids and twitter mentions. nobody that actually cared. her battery was on 2%. she let it die.

when the nurse wheeled her into the house, the nurse offered her the polite, professional smile that people reserved for hopeless causes like her. she helped her into bed. adjusted her blankets. placed her pain killers on the nightstand. felicity mumbled a quiet "thank you" and then "you can go." the door closed behind her and finally, she was alone. alone with everything she had done.

lounging on the porch like no time had passed, like he hadn’t missed fifteen years of her life. like he still belonged in hers. faded denim shirt, silver rings, weathered face. a cigarette rested between his fingers like an old friend, the same way her own rested in between hers. his eyes met hers, the same ones that used to burn under stage lights. but felicity didn’t feel sentimental. she felt sick.

“you’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” she said, her voice hoarse from exhaustion and smoke. mickey stood slowly, almost cautiously, as if approaching a wild animal. “hey, lissie.” he said, the nickname stinging like an open wound. she stopped ten feet from him, arms crossed like a shield. “you show up now? after everything? you think you get to sit on my fucking porch like we’re family?” she said.

“i heard you were back.” he replied. she scoffed, loud and humorless. “what, from the tabloids or one of your dealer friends?” his expression didn’t change. “does it matter?” “yeah, it matters,” she said. “you don’t get to pretend you care just because you finally saw something you couldn’t ignore in people magazine.” she said with a roll of her eyes. “i came because i needed to see you. in person.” he said, voice calm, but stern.

felicity stepped forward slowly. “did you need to see me when i was thirteen and found mom dead in a motel? did you need to see me when i had to call 911 by myself because her lips were blue and i couldn’t wake her up?” mickey’s shoulders fell. “lissie…” he said, stepping forward, trying to step closer to her, which only caused her to take another abrupt step backwards. “don’t call me that.” her voice was shaking now. “you don’t get to call me that like you know me, you don't fucking know me.” she shouted.

“i know i wasn’t there.” he began, only to be cut off by her sharp laughter. “no shit. you disappeared when i was eight. do you know what it’s like to have to remind your mom what day of the week it is? to hold her hair back while she's puking and crying and screaming at you, telling you that you're the reason her husband left her?" he nodded slowly as if he had a clue. “i do. i watched her fall apart too.” and with those words, another laugh left her. “you watched from a fucking island,” she snapped. “you were off getting blown by some twenty-year-old while i was locking myself in the bathroom with her pill bottles, trying to flush them so she wouldn’t take more.” he said nothing. “you left us. and then when she died, you showed up to her funeral drunk and in hysterics, like you had been there the whole time, like you tried to save her when you're the one that fucking killed her!” she shouted, which caused him to hang his head in shame. “i couldn’t do anything else…i couldn't face it…”

“you didn’t want to!” her voice cracked. “because then you’d have to look at what you did. at what you let happen." they stood there for a beat. the porch between them, the weight of a decade and a half of pain thick in the air. then mickey said, “i went back to the house.” felicity didn’t blink. flashback of that night back in september playing like a loop in her mind. the way she had showed up drunk, the way she had broke in and burned the house to the ground and snuck away without a trace. “they said it was some neighborhood kids at first. but i knew. the security camera across the street caught your car.” he said with a shake of his head. “so what?” was all she managed to reply. “that place was all i had left of her. of you, too. do you understand that?” his voice becoming sharper, cracking even.

“i understand that it was a fucking mausoleum,” she said, low and dangerous. “a trophy case for two people who ruined me.” she said, her jaw slightly twitching which caused a sympathetic look to take over mickey's features. “i never meant to ruin you.” he whispered. “well,” she said, stepping forward, “you did. you left, and i spent every day trying to fill in that hole. with men, with drugs, with fucking awards that mean nothing. i thought if i was perfect, maybe you’d come back. and when you didn’t, i stopped trying to be perfect. i just wanted to feel something again.”

“you look just like her,” mickey said softly. and that? that was the last straw. felicity dropped her cigarette and shoved him hard. mickey stumbled back, stunned. “don’t you dare say that,” she growled. “you don’t get to look at me like i’m some echo of your guilt-ridden love story. i’m not your ghost. i’m not your second chance. i’m what’s left when people like you leave.” tears began to well up in his eyes, gaze on the pavement. “i didn’t know how to stay.”

“well, i didn’t get a choice. i had to stay and watch her fall apart. i had to stay and learn how to survive in her chaos. and now i’m her. i’m a fucking bad rerun of your fucked love story.” mickey looked devastated. “that’s why i’m here.” “to do what? save me?” she said, a bitter laugh echoing from her as she shook her head. “to try,” he said. “because i don’t want to lose you too. i see the way you’re falling. the headlines. the drugs. the men.” felicity’s eyes blazed. “you don’t get to mention the men. none of them, not one of them broke my heart the way you did. not even close.”

mickey sighed heavily again, uncomfortably rubbing the back of his neck. “i didn’t come to judge you.” he said. “no, you came to fix your image of yourself,” she spat. “you want to pretend you were some tragic, misunderstood genius who just couldn’t hold it all together. but really? you were a coward. and you still are.” and it was the word coward that made him step forward again, his gaze going icy as he met hers. “i paid to get you back in.”

she blinked a few times, because she had to be hearing things right now. “what?” she asked quietly, her voice broken and scared like she was a little girl again for the first time in this conversation. “after the tape. you were blacklisted. i called in every favor i had. paid casting agents. bought the right people off. you didn’t bounce back on your own.” he said with a shake of his head. and all he was met with was silence as felicity's face went completely pale.

“you think you did that alone?” he said. “hollywood doesn’t forgive women like you unless someone like me makes it happen.” her voice was barely a whisper as she stared at the ground, eyes frantically bouncing around as if she were trying to comprehend what he was saying, as if she was trying to actually believe it. “you bought my comeback….” she muttered quietly, which caused him to step forward, hands landing on either side of felicity's arms as he shook his head. "i wanted you to have a chance. i love you, lissie, i never stopped loving you."

and those were the words that set her off, that set off a slideshow of the faces of every person that ever lied to her face and said they loved her that was gone now and it all started with him, with the man that was standing right in front of her. the man that broke her mother, the man that broke her. her face was turning beat red with anger, slowly but surely as her fists clenched at her sides, shaking with rage at the feeling of his hands against her arms as hot tears began to slowly trail down her face, gaze lifting to meet his. and as she looked into his eyes, all she felt was hate.

shoving him back off of her, her fists began flying, shoving him backwards and pounding against his chest. "i hate you! i fucking hate you! you ruined my fucking life! you broke me just like you broke her!" she screamed, tears pouring liberally down her cheeks as she sobbed and he stood there and took it, because deep down he knew that he deserved it. when she was finally out of breath and stopped, she took a step back, chest rising and falling as she stared at him, tears flowing down her cheeks. and she wondered. would he fight this time?

but he didn't. he simply nodded and stepped forward, thumb reaching out to wipe a tear from her cheek as he cupped the side of her cheek, leaning forward to place a gentle kiss on her forehead before he turned on his heel and left, because leaving was always what he did best.

the porch light flickered behind her as felicity stepped back into the house, shutting the door with a careful click, like anything louder might shatter her completely. the air inside felt colder now. hollow. like her father had sucked out the last bit of oxygen when he walked away just like he always did.

she stood in the entryway keys in hand, staring into the dimly lit living room like she didn’t recognize it anymore. her cheeks were wet but she didn’t bother wiping them. her body felt limp, loose, barely stitched together. her skin buzzing the way it always did after a fight that went too deep, cut too clean.

she moved to the couch, sinking into it like a corpse settling into a grave, and pulled her phone from her pocket. she didn’t want to cry. she wanted distraction. something warm and messy and alive. she wanted noise.

ford. her thumb hovered over his name in her contacts. but she blinked, and the image that came to her was of his baby, wide-eyed and swaddled, wrapped in juliette’s arms. their soft, safe little family. she couldn’t call him. he didn’t belong to her anymore. maybe he never really had. and even if he answered, what would she say? “hey, just got into a fight with my absentee father, do you mind if i come blow up your peace for a night?”

she locked the screen.

travis. her chest tightened. he told her he wouldn’t disappear on her again, swearing he meant it this time. but he did. weeks ago, they’d been texting like they were orbiting each other again. then…nothing. no reply. no read receipt. just silence. she knew better now. travis only showed up when it was convenient for him. he never really cared about her. he romanticized her. saw her exactly for who she wished she could be, not for the girl she really was. and perhaps it was because he never cared to look close enough.

she didn’t even bother opening the thread.

sterling. the anger flared in her gut before she even found his name. coward. manipulator. a man who could control the entire atmosphere of her life and then vanish without a goodbye. he quit the movie. left town. didn’t look back. just another man who took everything from her and couldn’t be bothered to check if she was still breathing. she blocked his number and deleted his contact without even thinking. her hand was trembling.

maddox. her throat tightened at just the sight of his name.

she could still see the hotel room in london. the rain against the window. the flicker of the bedside lamp. her, sitting in his lap, practically begging for him. and his face, filled with something close to heartbreak, as he shook his head and said she'd be the worst high he ever had. he was her best friend, probably her only friend at this point and she missed him like a phantom limb. but she couldn’t call. not after that. not when the rejection still lived under her skin like a bruise. not when he knew parts of her that felt too vulnerable now the kind of truths you don’t repeat unless someone’s staying. but he didn't stay. he didn't even try. not even for her.

felicity locked the phone, set it on the table, and folded in on herself.

name: phillipe 'phoenix' costa

age: twenty six

nicknames: nix, wolf

date of birth: september 6th, 1998

astrological sign: virgo

place of birth: las vegas, nevada

occupation: dj / club owner

label: the douchebag

positive traits: focused, determined, charming, diligent

negative traits: manipulative, selfish, apathetic, conniving

characters/celebrities he’s like: dennis reynolds from it’s always sunny in philadelphia, chuck bass from gossip girl, klaus mikaelson from the vampire diaries,  john mayer

career claim : tba

𝓫𝓲𝓸𝓰𝓻𝓪𝓹𝓱𝔂

born and raised in las vegas, nevada to a restauranter for a father and a celebrity party planner for a mother, it’s safe to say that phillipe’s life has been nothing but one, big giant party.

with his father having a chain of luxury restaurants on the vegas strip in all of the most luxurious hotels and his mother rubbing elbows with the rich and famous, philippe fell in love with the night life far earlier than he probably should have.

workaholics and always working on their latest big project left philippe to his own devices more often than not - and a kid with money and nothing but time on his hands was a dangerous thing in sin city.

wickedly smart, but never applying himself in school, he used those smarts for other things - selling drugs on the low, making fake ids for his friends, bribing his way into the hottest nightclubs when he was underage, always with a knack to scheme and lie his way into whatever he wanted.

he’s always had laser focus, liking to turn the mundane into something extraordinary, and when he wasn’t running around the vegas strip causing trouble, he was in his room, headphones in, making remake mixes to some of the world’s most popular songs.

he began making youtube videos of his music when he realized that college wasn’t an option for him, considering he was rarely in school, and his videos and remixes garnished millions and millions of views

using his mother’s connections, he began to get djing gigs at all the most popular nightclubs on the vegas strip, eventually being a headliner himself.

partying and hanging out with celebrities every single night was exactly the life he wanted for himself. he craved a constant good time, forever wanting to be a peter pan boy that never grew up, and he soon realized that this career path was it.

instead of just making mixes, he began producing songs for popular artists and every time he did, they ended up at the top of the charts, which caused him to move to los angeles and take on a celebrity status, under his stage name, ‘phoenix’

never wanting anyone to tell him what to do, he started his own record label - that literally only produces his music and collaborations with other artists called ‘fly guy records.’

now, not only is he one of the biggest djs in the world, but he’s also an entrepreneur, and has opened two nightclubs - sound nightclub in downtown los angeles & hakkasan in los vegas.

there’s not a humble bone in his body, a true nepo baby who’s gotten nothing but praise for doing the bare minimum his entire life, he’s used his clout and fame to get him anything, and anyone he wants.

he’s a non-committal kind of man, bored easily and treats women like they’re disposable, but will put on the charming act to get what he wants out of them.

𝓼𝓽𝓪𝓽𝓲𝓼𝓽𝓲𝓬𝓼

name: daphne anastasia kensington

age: twenty six

nicknames: she doesn't do nicknames

date of birth: january 13th, 1998

astrological sign: capricorn

place of birth: los angeles, california

occupation: human rights lawyer/activist/owner of the row/creative director of la mer/brand ambassador/socialite

label: the silk strategist

positive traits: curated, poised, effortless, luminous

negative traits: untouchable, coded, glacial, possessive

characters/celebrities she’s like: blair waldorf from gossip girl, katherine pierce from the vampire diaries, carolyn basset-kennedy, olivia palermo, audrey hephburn,

𝓫𝓲𝓸𝓰𝓻𝓪𝓹𝓱𝔂

Daphne Kensington was born into a legacy of silver screen glamour and whispered secrets.

The only child of a reclusive, Oscar-nominated film siren, Evelyn Kensington, and the infamous financier/tech founder Sebastian Hawker, Daphne’s very existence has been a carefully guarded secret.

Her father—known for his staggering wealth, charm, and eventual disgrace—was married at the time to Francesca Albrecht fashion’s sharpest and most intimidating woman, a true ice queen of global couture.

Together, Sebastian and Francesca had three children who became stars in their own right: Brooke, the fashion icon; Lily, the world-ranked tennis darling; and Louis, the golden-boy hockey phenom.

But Daphne? She was the scandal no one dared speak of. The child born of an affair, raised in opulent silence in the Hollywood Hills, where her mother kept her carefully cloaked from the public.

Though he was legally and publicly bound to another family, Sebastian remained a constant in Daphne’s life. Not through grand gestures or paparazzi-fodder vacations—but in private chess matches, handwritten letters, and whispered promises.

She adored him. And he adored her back. Even now, with his name stained by charges of fraud and his reputation torn apart—thanks in part to his own daughter Lily’s betrayal—Daphne has never wavered in her loyalty.

Now, she’s preparing to reveal the truth. But she’s doing it on her terms, and on her timeline.

Unlike the other socialites who seem to stumble into fame, Daphne earned every ounce of hers with precision and purpose.

She studied law at Columbia University, not for prestige but for armor. She wanted to understand the mechanisms that had swallowed her father whole.

She lived a double life: acing case law while attending Paris Fashion Week in vintage Alaïa, briefing on tort reform in the morning and closing investment meetings for her fashion label in the evening.

Because Daphne didn’t just influence fashion—she built it.

Long before it became the cornerstone of quiet luxury, The Row was Daphne Kensington’s vision. Founded in her early twenties, the brand was born out of a rebellion against the trend-chasing chaos of the fashion world.

It was minimal. Tailored. Impeccably made. A love letter to restraint. Inspired by her mother’s old screen wardrobe and the tailored perfection of mid-century couture, Daphne created a label that didn’t scream wealth—it whispered it.

The Row quickly became a favorite among art collectors, editors, and old money heirs. Daphne refused to front the brand herself at first—she let the clothing speak.

Only later, as the public began to connect her name with her aesthetic, did she begin to appear at the helm. Even then, she chose mystery over noise: sparse interviews, veiled photoshoots, coded captions.

Her work became the language of a new generation of power dressers—women who never tagged their location, who never raised their voices, but somehow always ran the room.

With her fashion empire solidified and her public profile rising, Daphne is quietly preparing her most personal release yet: the truth.

But there will be no mess. No breakdown. No TMZ headline frenzy. Daphne is a strategist. The reveal will unfold slowly—glimpses and signals embedded into her brand and her content.

Daphne Kensington is not your typical heiress, influencer, or designer. She’s a study in contrast: delicate and ruthless, soft-spoken and brilliant, polished but quietly defiant. She’s the kind of woman who can walk into a room and destabilize its hierarchy with a glance.

Her public persona is a masterclass in discipline: minimal captions, museum-light photos, and a style that references the past while shaping the future. But behind the filters and cashmere, there’s a daughter who has waited her whole life to be seen. Not as a mistake. Not as a scandal. But as the most deliberate creation of all.

𝓼𝓽𝓪𝓽𝓲𝓼𝓽𝓲𝓬𝓼

name: jacqueline 'jackie' sparks

age: forty four

nicknames: jackie, j sparks

date of birth: november 15th, 1979

astrological sign: scorpio

place of birth: las vegas, nevada

occupation: actress/model/current cast member of the real housewives of beverly hills

label: the firecracker

positive traits: blunt, crafty, driven, witty

negative traits: dramatic, promiscuous, non-committal, nonchalant

characters/celebrities she’s like: georgia miller from ginny and georgia, deb scott from one tree hill, paris hilton, regina's mom from mean girls, joan rivers, naomi campbell, mariah carrey

𝓫𝓲𝓸𝓰𝓻𝓪𝓹𝓱𝔂

born in the city of sin as a one night stand baby, jacqueline sparks was born to mitchell sparks, the ceo of mgm las vegas, and daniella jenkins, a showgirl from the vegas strip.

born after a night of fun, mitchell certainly didn't think daniella was wife material, but was a good enough guy to be there for his daughter. they amicably co-parented jacqueline - spending her weeks at her mother's home that her father had bought them in the suburban outskirts of las vegas and her weekends with her father living in the most lavish penthouses on the vegas strip.

inheriting her mother's beauty, as a little girl, her mother put her into pageants, which she always managed to win by a landslide.

she did this for most of her childhood until she was twelve years old and discovered by disney scouts, who had her fly out to l.a to audition for a new show, boy meets world and the rest was history.

the role of topanga catapulted her into overnight fame and while most kids would crumble under the pressure, jackie was born for this level of fame.

from boy meets world to saved by the bell and that 70's show, jackie became a teenage dream and she felt that she deserved the dream life. however, the dream life wasn't what she thought it would be.

she married her first boyfriend when she was just 18 years old and, they welcomed their first child

however, parenthood clearly wasn't for the girl who was used to all of the attention and adoration in the world, and jackie didn't take a break or a pause when it came to work and continued to work, lugging her baby around on all her movie and t.v show sets.

a girl with endless options, monogamy was boring her and when she suggested an open marriage, her husband filed for divorce almost immediately. and while the reason for their divorce was never leaked, she simply chalked it down to him being an insecure and weak man.

a couple of years later, she got into her second marriage, where they welcomed another child. in the beginning of this relationship, her partner acted totally fine with her wanting her freedom. however, when he was constantly the one left alone to take care of the kids while jackie went off to film whatever her latest project was or jet-setting across the world to attend luxury fashion shows, he grew fed up and their relationship ended, as well.

jackie never took any blame or accountability for the ending of her marriages, she simply thought she was too strong of a woman and that she just so happened to fall into relationships with men who were too weak to handle her.

she never had a maternal instinct when it came to her children. she left that work to their fathers' or her nannies and instead, was always known as 'the fun one.' she let her kids do whatever they wanted when she was around and treated them more like friends than like her children and prided herself in being known as a 'cool parent' - just like her own father had been to her. she never wanted to be the one burdened and exhausted with all the hard stuff like her mother was.

when her kids were in high school, she finally met a man that could keep up with her and understood his place with her and they fell madly in love - their marriage is an open one, although their extramarital affairs are kept very much on the down low as they paint the picture of the perfect blended family to the public and most recently, on the real housewives of beverly hills, that jackie was casted in.